Happiness
by TheWhiteCrayon
Summary: 'The only difference was that she didn't yell anymore. She just sat there. Motionless. Emotionless. With those blanc, hollow eyes. Looking straight ahead, but seeing nothing. Responding to nothing. This was so much worse than the yelling and fighting. This was unbearable.'


**I can't believe this is actually the first time I'm posting a story in almost three months. That's just awful. Seriously. I'm sorry. Life has just been busy lately. This is my exam year, so LOTS of schoolwork, which I'm trying to combine with passing my driver's license test, and that is NOT working out for me. I haven't got time for anything anymore, which sadly includes my writing. Today, however, I've decided to hold everything off until tomorrow, and write something -ANYTHING- down. This is the result. I'm not completely satisfied with it, it's kind of all over the place, and I'm also not really sure if I caught all the errors, but I'm posting it anyway. I hope you enjoy.**

 **I _still_ don't own victorious. Ain't life a bitch?**

I remember when we were children. Or teenagers, actually. We wouldn't have liked to be called children, then. But we were.

Or, I was, anyway. I was sixteen. I was happy, naive... I was a child. Everything was so simple, then. And now, I long for those days more than I could have ever imagined possible in a time when adulthood seemed like the most amazing thing in the world.

Of course it wasn't simple then. I won't say that it just didn't seem simple then, because it wasn't. It really wasn't simple. My life was as complicated as that of every sixteen year old. Like it should be.

The truth isn't that my life at sixteen only seemed complicated at the time, but it just seems simple now, twenty years later. Because now I can compare it to my present life. And -of course- the average life of a forty year old is more complicated than that of the average sixteen year old. -That's the way it should be.

But my life is not the way it should be.

Neither is hers, of course. But I'm a selfish person. Just like she is. Only she has a reason -a mental _illness_. And I don't.

I try to tell myself that it's okay -that I've been sitting here at the hospital for hours now, waiting for her, after she tried to kill herself for the thousandths of time. So I can't be that selfish, can I?

But, honestly, I don't even know what I'm doing here, anymore. I used to think that I was doing something good by being here. That's the whole reason I started caring for her, anyway. Because it's not like we were ever that good of friends.

Maybe we never even were friends at all.

But I always thought we could be, one day. I always thought -knew- there had to be something wrong with her. Like a depression. And then, one day, we would find out, and we could help her and we would become friends. I thought it would be difficult, I knew there would be hard times, but it was possible. And in the end, it would all be worth it.

But I had no idea what a black hole depression could be. And how it would suck out all of her -and my- energy, after she finally quit fighting.

I also thought it would get better when she did -when she stopped fighting. I thought it would mean she was going to drop down her walls, and start letting people in.

But that didn't happen.

The walls only got higher. Nobody was allowed in. The only difference was that she didn't yell anymore. She just sat there. Motionless. Emotionless. With those blanc, hollow eyes. Looking straight ahead, but seeing nothing. Responding to nothing. This was so much worse than the yelling and fighting. This was unbearable.

Beck was the first one to leave -against all expectations. I understood. We all did. We all wanted to leave.

But nobody had the guts to actually do it.

Looking back, maybe I should have gone with him. Maybe my life wouldn't be such a mess now, if I had. Maybe I could even be really happy.

Nobody would have blamed me if I had left her, then. But I was determined to fix things. To make a happy ever after happen.

It wasn't long after that when her parents decided they couldn't do it anymore, either. She was going to a clinic. And I knew that if she went, she would never get out.

So I didn't let her go.

I took her in. I was going to take care of her -I was going to fix this. And we were going to be happy.

Looking back, maybe that was my last chance to get out. Because, if even her parents gave up, why wouldn't I? Who would have blamed me?

It wasn't until five years later, that even Cat backed out. After being my best and only friend since the very beginning, after five years of support and shared misery, she walked away.

It was too hard on her. I understood. It was too hard on me, as well. I wanted to walk away, too. I just didn't have that choice.

Or maybe I just never gave myself that choice.

I knew it had been tough on her for a while now. But I never expected her to actually quit. Not Cat. Not my best friend in the whole world. Not the one person I knew cared more about Jade then even I did.

But she did.

One night she came by our apartment. From the moment I opened the door and saw her face, I knew. After all, she wasn't the first person to tell me they'd had enough.

She told me she couldn't do it anymore. It was too hard on her. She wanted to have a life. She was done. She told me she had been offered an audition for broadway. She was going to New York. And she was going with André.

That was five months after André had finally broken up with me.

He wanted to start having a life, too.

I guessed now they could start living together.

Leaving me behind.

I could have had a great life. I could have been a pop star. I could have been rich and famous. I could have been married to André. I could have had two amazing kids, boy and girl, maybe -just like he and Cat have, now.

I wonder what Cat is doing right now. Maybe she's still at the studio, working on a song for her newest album. Or maybe she's at home, preparing dinner for her family. Maybe her little girl is standing next to her in the kitchen -on a chair, because she can't reach the counter on her own yet- and maybe Cat is holding her tight as she's stirring a pan of food, grumbling that she's a big girl now, momma, and she can do it by herself.

Or maybe she's at a hospital, too. Maybe her son fell out of a tree -after she told him not to climb it at least a hundred times- and he broke his arm. Maybe she's holding his other hand and drying his tears as the doctor wraps plaster around the fracture.

But at least I know she's not alone. Maybe André is sitting next to her, or maybe he's on his way. And even if he's not, she knows for sure that he's only a phone call away. She could call him. Or her parents. Or her friends. If there's one thing that's for sure, it's that if she needs somebody to be there for her, there's always someone to call.

I guess that's what I hate the most about being here. Being here alone. Because, who do I have got to call?

Not her parents. Not after they cut her off.

Not my friends, because, I don't have any.

I could probably call my parents, or Trina. And they would probably come. But what's the use? Because, they don't care about Jade. And they wouldn't be here for Jade, they'd be here for me. And I don't want that. I don't want somebody to come sit here with me, looking at the clock, wishing they could be anywhere but here right now.

It's enough that I feel that way myself.

It's not like I hate Jade -I don't. I used to love her. That's the whole reason I'm here. That's the whole reason we're together. I wouldn't be here if I didn't care.

And I do care. I care about the girl I used to know, the girl I know is still in there, somewhere. The amazingly talented, bittersweet frenemy that I remember. I care about that girl. Maybe, I even love that girl.

But I do hate what she's become. I hate what she's done to me -to us. I hate how neither of us have a life. And I hate how every time I see her she reminds me of what could have been.

We could have been happy.

But now? Now it's all over. Even if she dies tonight. I can't possibly start a life anymore, now. I'm forty years old. That's too old to be a pop star. Too old to raise a family. Too old to begin living.

What should have been the best years of my life, have simply slipped through my fingers. Passed by. Leaving me behind.

We could have been really happy, Jade and I. But, somewhere along the way, I guess we just lost the track .

 **I know the ending is a bit rushed, sorry. I hope you liked it. I'm happy that at least I updated again. If you can spare the time, please leave a review.**


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